


Just Promise Me We'll Be All Right

by celeste9



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 06:21:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4818413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The king is dead," Leon says, and it is the single most difficult phrase he has ever had to say in his entire life. </p><p>After that, everything is just a little bit easier. </p><p>"Long live the queen!" Leon says and means it with his entire soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Promise Me We'll Be All Right

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for the entire series, entirely canon-compliant (read: all the bad things happened). Thanks to deinonychus_1 for the beta! For h/c bingo, square TBD (probably the wild card). Title from Mumford and Sons.

“The king is dead,” Leon says, and it is the single most difficult phrase he has ever had to say in his entire life.

After that, everything is just a little bit easier.

“Long live the queen!” Leon says, and means it with his entire soul. He once told Gwen that Arthur could leave Camelot in no better hands than hers, and he truly believes that. Gwen has grace and kindness and compassion, and she has wisdom and the strength to make difficult decisions. Arthur trusted her with his life and with his people, and she never let him down. Gwen is Leon’s queen, and she is his friend.

Gwen has been Leon’s friend since he was only a boy swinging his sword in the training yard and she was a sweet little girl trailing after her mother with the bedding. Truth be told, Leon liked her more than he liked his siblings. His mother never minded if Leon played with her, servant’s daughter or not, and Leon remembers climbing trees with her and sitting with her in the sun while she wove flower crowns. Leon thinks that his mother liked that Gwen could make him open up, to be less serious, to splash through mud puddles like children should.

Now Gwen wears a crown of gold on top of her dark curls and sits on a throne, but her heart remains the same.

Leon watches her quietly grieve for her husband and rule Camelot in his place. She never falters, even though Leon suspects she cries at night sometimes, when she is alone. She keeps the peace that Arthur died for and she makes the kingdom a safe place again for those who practice magic. It isn’t an easy transition but Gwen makes it as smooth as possible, genuinely listening to the concerns of every citizen of Camelot who comes to her, from the lowliest stable boy to the wealthiest noble.

Arthur would be proud of her. Leon knows because _he_ is proud of her.

It helps that Merlin is there. The people know Merlin. They know him as Arthur’s servant, and they know him as Gaius’ assistant, and they know him as someone who has always been generous and kind. Now they know him as a sorcerer, as the protector of Camelot, as Arthur’s strongest ally and Gwen’s advisor. He makes it easier.

Leon tries, too. He tries to do what he can. He does all that Gwen asks of him, even if all she asks is for him to be a solid shadow by her side. It’s the least he can do, for his queen, for his friend, and for the memory of Arthur.

Arthur’s memory lingers in Camelot. Leon sees him in the seat at the round table that they never fill and in the throne that sits empty beside Gwen’s. In the practice yard where they train the new knights, Leon remembers Arthur’s powerful and graceful swing and he remembers the tilt of Arthur’s smile when he would tease Merlin. When they hunt, Leon can almost see Arthur racing ahead on his horse, the quiet thrill on his face, the way the chase made him seem so alive. Arthur is everywhere, but nowhere.

Time passes, and the losses fade, though they don’t vanish. Leon knows they never will, and he wouldn’t want them to. Some days are worse than others, and one of the bad ones is the day they would have celebrated Gwaine’s birthday.

Leon drinks a toast to Gwaine in the tavern with Percival, and then drinks a bit more, as Gwaine would want. He drinks to the memory of the friends he has lost. Gwaine, Arthur, Elyan, Lancelot, and all the rest. Even Mordred, his sweet nature and desire to please lost to the hatred and ragethat had consumed Morgana.

Sometimes Leon wonders if maybe he could have done something differently to change what had happened, if maybe he could have… Maybe he could have stopped it. Maybe he could have helped Mordred, or perhaps he could have got to Arthur first, protected him as was his duty. Maybe he could even have done something to help Morgana, who had been his friend once, too. She was a sorcerer, but so was Merlin, and he wasn’t bad. Perhaps Morgana could have been saved.

But in his heart Leon knows the futility of such thoughts, even if his head doesn’t want to listen.

Leon leaves the tavern with an arm around Percival’s shoulders, tipsier than he has any right to be. They talk together all the way to Percival’s door, continuing to tell stories and laughing to cover the hurt Leon knows they both feel. 

He leaves Percival to his bed but instead of returning to his own, he finds himself in the corridor leading to Gwen’s chambers, thinking that he will… He will see that all is well. He expects to find nothing, but instead finds Gwen, a cloak tied around her shoulders as she walks towards him.

“Leon?” she says.

“Your Grace,” Leon says, brow furrowing in concern. “What keeps you awake at this late hour?”

“I only wanted to go for a walk. I needed some fresh air to clear my head.”

“Let me escort you back to your chambers, then.”

She smiles at him. “Leon, my door is only feet away.”

“Nevertheless,” he says, and offers his arm, which she accepts. In seconds they are at her door. “Good night, Your Grace.”

Hesitating, Gwen keeps her fingers pressed to Leon’s arm. “Come in for a moment? Sit with me.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“Oh, Leon,” Gwen says, her tone filled with teasing. “There is no one to see us and you are the last possible man who would inspire rumours.”

“Your Grace?”

“Your behaviour is far too impeccable. No one would dare to think anything improper of you and the queen. They would assume that we are talking only of matters of state, of course.” Gwen opens the door and gestures him inside.

Leon is not sure he is convinced, but he says, “Of course,” and comes inside anyway. It must be the ale.

Gwen unties her cloak and hangs it neatly. Leon can only think that she must be the easiest queen a servant could ever hope to work for.

“You were at the tavern?” she asks.

“What?”

“It’s just… I can smell it on you.”

Leon blushes. “I’m sorry, I--”

“Don’t apologize,” Gwen says with a soft laugh. “I didn’t say it was bad.”

Though Leon fails to see how smelling of a tavern could be anything but bad, he follows Gwen’s lead. “I was with Percival.”

“Having a drink for Gwaine?”

“How did you know?”

“He was my friend, too. I remember his birthday.”

Leon gazes toward the window, where he can see the dark courtyard. He remembers watching Gwaine ride out from Camelot, years ago, when Leon had known him as nothing more than a rogue. “I never much liked Gwaine, actually. He was loud and irreverent and undignified, and he loved himself too much.”

“All true,” Gwen agrees. “Except for the part about you. You loved him, imperfections and all.”

“Sometimes I think I loved him more than my true brothers,” Leon confesses. “Isn’t that a terrible thing to say?”

“Family doesn’t end with blood.”

Leon thinks back to his childhood, thinks of a servant’s daughter who could make him laugh, and her mischievous little brother who never wanted to be left out. “No, it doesn’t.” He inclines his head. “Sleep well, Your Grace.”

-

Percival buys two fresh rolls from the baker’s stand at market and hands one to Leon. It’s still warm, and the crusty outside tears easily to reveal the soft center. 

The early spring air is crisp but the sun is shining overhead. Their boots are caked with mud from patrol and Leon is tired, but all is well in Camelot, at least for today, and that is more than enough to be grateful for. 

“Do you ever think about leaving?” Percival asks.

“Why would I?” Leon says, confused. “Camelot is my home. Is it not yours?”

“Yes, but... I came here for Arthur, because I believed in him and his fight. But Arthur’s gone now, with Lancelot, and Elyan, and Gwaine. It isn’t the same.”

“Is Guinevere not a queen deserving of your loyalty?”

Percival frowns, his forehead creasing in concentration and perhaps a bit of frustration. “Of course she is. You know I would give my life for her, and for Camelot. But sometimes I feel... There’s been too much loss, and Camelot is filled with ghosts. I’m not sure I feel happy here any longer.”

Leon clasps Percival’s shoulder. “I cannot make you stay where you are unhappy, and I would never want to, but I have never doubted that you belong here. You helped make Camelot what it is.”

“I suppose,” Percival says, his gaze sliding away from Leon. 

They continue walking, and Leon wishes he knew what to say. He fears the loss of another friend, even if it is only to distance.

“Suppose it would be no use trying to tear you away from here,” Percival says more cheerfully. “Horses couldn’t drag you from the side of our charming queen.”

Leon refrains from smacking him, but only just.

-

They are celebrating the Feast of Beltane, and Gwen presides over it regally. She takes care to send the best dishes out amongst the revelers, keeping only a little for herself. She seems merry, conversing and laughing with those around her, and Leon thinks it might not even be feigned. 

Her gown is newly made, a rich, vibrant red for Camelot. Leon thinks he is not the only one who has to stop himself from staring. 

Embarrassingly, Merlin notices. “Looks lovely, doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” Leon says on an exhale before he can stop himself. “Er. I mean, well, of course she does, she’s the queen.”

“Right,” Merlin says with a big cheeky grin. “You’ve been spending a lot of time together lately, I’ve noticed.”

“Again, she is the queen. It is my duty to serve her.”

“Serve her, right.”

“Merlin.” Leon frowns.

“What? I didn’t say anything.” And then he’s off, enjoying the festivities in the way he never could before, when he was only a servant.

Leon has perhaps a bit more wine than he should in an effort to look like he’s having a good time and not obsessing over his queen. He tries to appreciate seeing Percival again, who is only recently returned from a long foray to the north. He stays in Camelot for now, but Leon does not know how long that will be true.

Percival drags him into conversation with two pretty young ladies, his intentions clear, but while they are no doubt fine women, Leon finds them rather duller than he would like. He suspects he should not mind so much, but after Percival vanishes with the brunette, he is relieved when the redhead decides Sir Gareth might be better company.

“Enjoying yourself, Sir Leon?”

More startled than he wants to admit to, Leon rises hastily from his seat. “Yes, Your Grace, of course. Very much. Wonderful celebration.”

Gwen’s eyes are laughing, even if her mouth is not. “You look bored to death.”

Ah. He was never much of an actor, it must be said. Apparently he had too honest a face, or so Gwaine used to say. “I am a little tired, I’m afraid.”

“That makes two of us. I was going to retire to my chamber; would you walk with me?”

Leon offers her his arm. “Of course.”

No one looks twice at them as they leave. Leon supposes he is in the company of his queen more than anyone else these days, even the knights. A part of him is remembering Gwen saying, _No one would dare to think anything improper of you and the queen._

He quiets that voice.

At Gwen’s door, Leon allows himself one more look at her in her finery. Sometimes he is still almost surprised by her, by how different she looks now than the girl he remembers from his childhood.

Now she wears tailored dresses of expensive fabrics, all made to flatter her, with her hair styled elaborately and jewels at her throat, and she is beautiful. But she was beautiful before, in cheap woolen dresses with hems stained with mud, when her hands were rough from work and her only ornaments were flowers or ribbons in her hair. Gwen’s beauty doesn’t come from decoration. It is in her cheerful smile, the light in her eyes, and the warmth of her heart.

“Thank you for the company,” Gwen says.

Leon takes her hand and raises it to his lips, kissing the back and enjoying the way it makes Gwen’s eyes crinkle around the corners. “Good night, Your Grace.”

He thinks of her all the way to his own chambers, and longer than that.

-

“I wish to visit my father’s grave,” Gwen says.

Leon inclines his head. “Of course, Your Grace. When would you like to leave? I will prepare the men to accompany you.”

“No, I want no knights. You can guard me yourself.”

“But, my lady--”

“I trust you, Leon.”

“I am glad of it, but I am only one man, Your Grace.”

Gwen touches Leon’s arm, her small hand resting on the mail covering his elbow. “I understand that being queen puts me at risk and that the precautions you take are necessary ones. But… do you know how it feels to have nothing be yours anymore? To have not a moment’s privacy to grieve? Let me have one afternoon where my heart is my own, Leon, please, one afternoon where I am not followed by a troop of knights. Please.”

Leon hesitates but he is defeated by the look in Gwen’s dark eyes. “As you wish.”

Her relief is evident and she squeezes Leon’s arm. “Thank you.”

They set out in an hour. Their horses walk steadily through the woods and they speak little. Leon does not want to allow himself to be distracted lest anything catch him off-guard. Camelot is at peace, but even peacetime has its dangers.

When they arrive, Leon steps back to give Gwen some space. She kneels in the dirt by her father’s grave, her skirts spread around her, and talks quietly. The day is overcast but warm.

Leon knew Gwen’s father less than he knew her mother, but he knew him well enough to know that Tom was a good man. The circumstances of his death were tragic and Leon regrets… Well, he regrets. He will never forget Gwen’s tears when he came to offer his condolences, or the guilt he felt at having done nothing to intervene. Leon still loves Uther as his king and as the man who raised him to a knight of Camelot but Uther was a hard man who would break before he would bend. 

When Gwen stands up, her eyes are dry and clear. “Shall we eat?”

They have brought only a little food to share, some bread and cheese, a bit of fruit. Still, it’s nice, Leon thinks, to sit with Gwen in the grass like they used to do when they were children. He is only sorry Elyan is not here to join them, to make them laugh.

Leon cannot help but remember that the last time Leon brought Gwen to this place, her brother was still alive. He cannot help but remember what came next. If he is thinking of it, he knows that Gwen will be, too.

When she speaks, though, it isn’t of her brother.

“I hated Merlin a little, when he returned without Arthur,” Gwen says, so softly. “I thought, how could he be such a great sorcerer and not save my husband? His king? If everything he had done since he came to Camelot had been for Arthur, then how could he not save him? But in my heart I knew that the real reason I was angry was because Merlin was with him at the end, and not me. Merlin was there to hold him, to comfort him, to…” Gwen pauses, her eyes wet. She brushes her hand across her eyes. “He was there and I, his wife, the one who was supposed to love him more than anyone, was not.”

Leon doesn’t know what to say, but he doesn’t think he is supposed to say anything. He thinks that all Gwen really needs is someone to listen.

“Then Merlin came back with nothing. There was no body for me to weep over, no Arthur for me to say goodbye to. I think that was the worst part, that he was just… gone. He was gone and I never truly had the chance to say goodbye. I think I had known I would never see him alive again from the moment Gaius placed his ring in my hand, but I didn’t think I would never see him again at all.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t say goodbye,” Leon says.

Gwen focuses on him with red-rimmed eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I see Arthur everywhere. In the castle, in the tavern, in the forest. Everywhere I have memories of him. Don’t you feel him, even here?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t need a body to say goodbye, Gwen. The goodbye is for you.”

She looks at him a moment longer and then she is far away, her gaze on everything but him. The trees, the sky, the grass, the fallen branches. “Arthur, my love,” she whispers, and Leon feels like an intruder.

It always feels like so much is going on around him, tragedy and heartbreak and family drama, like Leon is a spectator in a play except the actors are right by his side. The world unfolds and Leon is part of it, and somehow not. He is always the least important player. That should probably bother him more than it does, but Leon has never wanted much for himself. He can be content with the knowledge that he has served the greatness of others.

And he has seen their grief, too.

Gwen’s cheeks are wet with tears but she says, “You have a right to grieve, too, Leon.”

Leon feels as though he has missed half a conversation. “What?”

“You are always there to help me, to give me whatever I need, to support me in my loss, but what of the things you have lost? When do you get a moment for yourself? When does anyone ever think of what you need?”

“I have never asked--”

“No, that’s the point. You never ask, but you shouldn’t have to. I’m afraid I haven’t been as good a friend to you as you have been to me.”

“That isn’t true,” Leon protests, hating that she would even think it. 

Gwen scoots closer to him. “No, it is. I’ve been so caught up in myself, in what I’ve lost, in what I need to do as queen, that I haven’t stopped to think of you. And that was wrong.”

“Please don’t apologize to me.”

Leaning in, Gwen kisses his cheek. She is warm and soft and smells of lavender, and Leon wants to hold her more than he had thought possible. He keeps himself still and rigid, muscles tensed, so that he will not. He will not lay a hand upon his queen.

“I hope you know how dear you are to me, Leon,” Gwen says, so close.

He thinks, _Not as dear as you are to me._

-

They return to the castle and Leon helps Gwen down from her horse, her waist small between his hands. She smiles up at him and Leon lingers too long, just gazing at her.

“Thank you for today, Sir Leon,” she says to him before she leaves, walking up the stairs to the castle.

Leon watches her, because he can’t help himself.

“I am glad to see you both back safely.”

Turning, Leon sees Merlin has somehow appeared by his side. Was he really so distracted? “Yes. All is well.”

“Better than well, I think.”

“Sorry?”

“You’re good together,” Merlin says, and there is no mistaking his meaning. 

Leon could deny it, but what would be the point? While it is true that nothing untoward has happened between Gwen and himself, and perhaps nothing ever will (if Leon is half the man they say he is, nothing ever will), but in his heart… Well. There is no point denying it. “Arthur--”

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupts, “would be happy that you are taking care of each other.”

He clasps Leon’s shoulder, making Leon meet his eyes. He smiles a little, and as Leon finds himself unable to return it he can only hope that Merlin is right.

-

Leon tries to love Gwen from a distance. He tries to be like the noble knights from the stories, the ones who would do anything for their lady and ask for nothing in return. He tries to live up to his own reputation but it’s difficult to be the person everyone believes you are when in truth, you can only be you, struggles and flaws and all.

It becomes harder when he stops being able to tell himself that Gwen only wants him to love her from a distance.

More and more she asks him to sit with her in her chambers, to walk with her, to ride with her, to share meals with her. She wants more than to continue their friendship - Leon can see it in her face. He is not as clueless as Gwaine sometimes accused him of being. Leon has always seen more than he lets on; it is only that he prefers not to draw attention to the things he sees.

They are sitting together in Gwen’s chambers one evening, quietly reading, as though they are more than they are, as though they are what Gwen and Arthur used to be. A couple who are simply comfortable in each other’s presence.

The hour grows late, and Leon thinks to leave before it would seem _too_ improper for him to be seen leaving the queen’s private rooms. When he stands, though, and makes his goodbyes, Gwen stops him.

“I would,” she says, the words seeming to come slowly and with difficulty, as though she were unsure of how to phrase her desire. “I would have you stay.”

“Your Grace?” Leon asks.

“I would have you stay with me,” she repeats. “I would have you never leave me, Leon, please.”

“You know I never would,” Leon says, though he knows that is not what she means. He knows.

Gwen steps closer, her eyes on his. She reaches out to him and Leon takes her hands because he can’t not. “Leon,” she says, and there is far more meaning in the simple fall of his name from her lips than should be possible.

“Arthur--” Leon starts, because that always seems to be all that can he say. _Arthur,_ he thinks, _Arthur, my friend, my king. Arthur._

“Was my husband, and I loved him,” Gwen says. “But Arthur is dead and he isn’t coming back. He wouldn’t want me to be sad forever.”

“Feels a bit like stealing my best friend’s wife all the same.” Or the king’s wife, which is worse yet.

“I’m not anyone’s wife; I’m just me. This is what I want. Is it what you want, Leon?”

Leon looks at her, at her shining face filled with hope and desire, at her hands clasped in his. He has never wanted anything more than to be a good and loyal knight, to serve Camelot as best as he is able. He has tried to push his own needs aside, but perhaps he is not as strong as he should be, or as noble as they say he is. He is only a man, after all, and the answer is simple.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes.”

-

Gwen is the queen of Camelot and Leon is nothing more than a knight. Her most trusted knight, perhaps, but only a knight nonetheless. She should marry a prince or at the very least a lord with title and lands, if she is to ever marry anyone again at all. Arthur and Gwen left no heir, and should she die with no one to succeed her, it would put everything they have built, everything that Arthur died for, at risk. Yet Leon cannot bring himself to care about that, not when Gwen is in his arms. It is selfish beyond reason but Leon is learning that some things are more important than duty, and perhaps honour and love are not mutually exclusive.

Leon is a knight, from a noble family, though he will never inherit. A son by him, he thinks, perhaps might not be such a bad thing, in time. His family name still earns respect in Camelot. This, though, the idea that a son of his could be king of Camelot, fills him with terror. It makes him feel as though he is reaching too far beyond his place and trying to be more than he is. He is not great enough to be king, nor even the father of a king, but Merlin sees fit to inform him that lesser men than he have done so. The simple truth is, though, he has no desire to sit the throne - he wants only to serve, as he has always wanted.

Gwen tells him it doesn’t matter. _I was a serving girl and Arthur made me his queen anyway,_ she says to him. _You have more right to the crown of Camelot than I ever did._

But she lets it go. It’s better this way, and Leon is happy.

By God, he is happy.

He revels in the way Gwen smiles at him, like he is something precious and special to her, and the tiniest brush of her fingers against him feels like a victory. She listens to his counsel as she always did but now when she retires to her chambers, Leon can retire with her and hold her as close as he wishes. He thinks that he will never want for anything again, so long as he can have this, as long as he can have her.

As long as he can be hers.

Leon kneels before Gwen’s feet, his head bowed. “My lady.”

Gwen’s hand falls to Leon’s head, stroking through his hair. “Sir Leon,” she says, and he can hear the fondness in her voice.

Tilting his chin up, Leon is unable to stop the wide smile that spreads across his face as he looks at her. Guinevere, his queen, his oldest friend, his love. The woman he hopes to serve until his dying breath.

_Long live the queen._

**_End_ **


End file.
